


Too busy being yours to fall for somebody new

by RipVanWinkle



Series: Just close your eyes [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Crying, F/M, Getting Together, Incubus Lance, Insecure Lance, Lance (Voltron) Whump, Langst, M/M, Possessive Keith (Voltron), Self-Hatred, Sexual Content, You can tear country Keith from my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-27 10:25:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16217117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RipVanWinkle/pseuds/RipVanWinkle
Summary: Lance isn't sure when he started belonging to Keith.A sequel toI would be the one to hold you down





	Too busy being yours to fall for somebody new

**Author's Note:**

> You don't have to read the [first fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13545291) to understand this one although it may help you out.
> 
>  **Warning:** You may notice that Lance seems a little against being with Keith at first. It will be explained. There is no rape or dubious consent in this fanficiton. Everything is very consensual between all parties.

Lance is dirty.

His fingernails are encrusted with shreds of skin off the backs of lovers lost. His brunet hair is greasy and tangled from the tugs of a thousand hands. On his tongue and between his teeth rests a pestilence that oozes its filth like tar from a hose. The gunk fills his throat, his stomach, his guts, until they hang heavy, burdened by the years gone by. Swollen blisters and sores line his feet and hands. They are trophies from his victims- from running his palms across sweaty naked skin and prowling miles upon miles of nighttime in search for the gullible. 

His manhood is sordid. It swings between his legs petulantly, a reminder of his destiny to die astride a stranger’s cock. A Sword of Damocles. The power it gives him over others turns his seed rancid. He wishes it would shrivel and die. He wishes it would leave and give him peace, finally, finally, refuge from the incessant hunger that it births into his lungs. His legs burn with a passion to run but he is a prisoner to his own biology. 

He looks in the mirror and wants to carve the skin from his face. His mother told him he was beautiful and he should be grateful for his luck. That pissed him off then and it pisses him off now. He was born to be beautiful. He had no choice in the matter, just as he has no choice but to be a whore. He grew up catholic. The desire was not awakened until he was old enough to question that. He wonders if he truly regrets that first innocent inquiry. Then he figures he had no choice in that either. God could not allow the damned in His own home.

His skin, when he peers disdainfully downwards in the heady darkness of an unfamiliar bedroom, is rotten. He alikes it to dying algae in the sea. One heavy touch and cold liquid death seeps out of its enlarged pores, stinking of sewage and mold.  _ Squelch!  _ The bruises lingering between his thighs are as insistent as mushroom caps growing across an empty wet field. He covers one and three more pop up in its place. He never quite remembers what causes them. He never focuses too heavy on his wounds, even when they cover him head to toe and he desperately wants to rip this noxious flesh from his bones. 

Yeah. Lance is dirty. He really wishes Keith would see that already.

 

* * *

 

 

When Keith looks at him like  _ that  _ Lance’s skin feels too tight for his own body.

That,  _ that!  _ As if Lance is the the answer. As if Lance holds all the secrets of the universe between his ribs. As if Lance is not some putrid beast hiding among them, wearing their faces and mimicking their behaviors. Like Keith’s Lion it fucking  _ burns  _ him to the core. 

It follows Lance to the kitchen and down the hall. It trails after him in the dining hall and on their way to the Lions to get geared up for an emergency call. It sticks like plaster to his heaving chest during training hours and travels up and down his form with an appreciation so fond that it makes him nauseous. 

It stares down at him in the dead of night, unblinking and unapologetic, refusing to give him mercy as he writhes in the sheets below, begging for solace from the bright summer flare. Lance does not know why Keith is so persistent to watch him fall apart the way he does. Keith has always been a mystery to him.

Keith watches him now, across the table and beside a glaringly empty seat, those sharp violet irises dark with irritated concern. Lance knows better than to make eye contact by now. Best not to poke at and provoke the crouching tiger lest he attack sooner than planned. He turns to Hunk and chuckles along at his shitty impression of Pidge, the girl in question complaining in a loud voice and throwing bits of her goo at the two of them. 

Shiro tries to appease them to keep the peace but is quickly distracted by Coran’s newest whimsical tale of Altean heroism. Allura offers funny anecdotes to Coran’s story and only shoots Keith and Lance a worried look every now and again. Lance is thankful she has decided to stay out of their affairs for the time being. He knows her heart is in the right place but he already has enough on his mind.

Like how he is ignoring Keith at the moment and how gratingly obvious it is to  _ everyone. _

It is no grand secret that Keith claims to be in love with Lance. He is glued to Lance at the hip, refuses to let him get very far without him. He keeps a hand on him at all times; at the hip, coiled around the back of his neck. Lance hates that he likes it, hates that he reciprocates this unwarranted,  _ unwanted  _ love. Keith knows first hand how flighty Lance can get. He should expect the silent treatment every now and again.

Lance is not sure if they are dating or not, if their relationship could be labeled such. He knows Keith wants to chain him down with something like a  _ title.  _ Lance also knows that he does not, can not, want this.

He wishes that there was something to find when he tries to seek out Keith’s lust. His body remains unchanged, as always, and it is only a tidal wave of ripe apprehension that greets his prodding. Lance is struck stupid and risks a glance Keith’s way. It is enough to lock him into place, his gaze captured by those probing eyes that justly know every one of Lance’s dirty secrets. 

Keith stares and stares and stares, and like a child looking down into a great abyss does Lance watch right back. Lance shivers because Keith knows. Lance gave up trying to avoid Keith weeks ago. There is only one reason he would be doing it again now. 

He is getting hungry.

 

* * *

 

 

The emergency beacon is a welcomed surprise. It gives Lance a chance to escape Keith’s weight. He feels cold without it but ignores his own feelings of affection. They are useless to someone like himself. 

It is a simple matter to purge the small planet Pogars of its foreign threat. Surprisingly the Galra are not behind the attacks this time around but instead a zealous lot of space pirates. They are organized and carry excellent weaponry, Lance will give them that, but their fight quickly died out at Voltron’s massive show of force. Who would dare, besides the Galra, attempt to harm the universe’s greatest weapon? Lance thinks it is more so their reputation than their actual battle that pushes the pirates to surrender.

After the galactic struggle the Lions touch down on Pogars to offer aid in rounding up the pirate convicts. The species that thrives there is quite stunning, if not a little hyperactive. It is no wonder the pirates were easily terrorizing them- they have no military to speak of. The planet is known for its pleasure dens and peaceful love for all that lives. Allura attempts to speak to a leader but, as it turns out, they have no hierarchical system. The planet and population is so meager that they are able to live in perfect harmony with one another.

Lance immediately likes it here. The sky is a lovely golden color and the grass a pleasant blue tinted purple. The locals are kind to a fault and insist that the paladins stay for an evening of celebration. Unsurprisingly, the Poga are very good at partying. Voltron is quick to find that they are very promiscuous as well.

Lance does not mind debauchery. He has been around it all his life and considers it a staple of his own personality. Naturally he fits in the best and accepts Poga customs more smoothly than his friends. It helps too that Lance can feel the growing starvation in his gut, a thirst so deep that it makes him sociable and seductive without him really meaning to. Just another thing in life he has no control over. 

At the beginning of the night, Lance cannot shake off Keith. He follows Lance as he jumps from Poga to Poga, unrelenting with his angry stare promising death to any alien that lingers too long. Lance wants to find it annoying but instead his heart betrays him by beating ever faster. Halfway into this Lance just wants to call off his childish game and drag Keith somewhere dark and hidden, swallow him down and refuse to let up until Keith is begging him to. 

But his heart aches excruciatingly at the image. A monster in the night feeding on the pitiful idiot who fell for its manipulation. Lance needs to escape Keith’s grasp.

The opportunity comes when Lance, tired from dancing and socializing, throws his body onto a plush loveseat. Keith sits down next to him much more carefully, his knees spread obnoxiously and bumping into Lance’s. Lance rests his head against the back of the seat to peer over at him.

Keith watches the crowd for a moment longer before he turns his attention on to Lance. He is frowning, as he is prone to do, but it is not his usual frown. This one is worried. “You gonna tell what’s wrong with you now?”

Lance chooses not to answer at first as he gets himself comfortable on the loveseat. He stretches out his legs until they rest in Keith’s lap and his back leans against the arm rest. Keith allows this mindlessly, his hands immediately wrapping around Lance’s calf and ankle. The skin there tingles and Lance offers a jerky shrug.

Keith sighs, his tone tired, “I thought we got over this, Lance.”

Lance crosses his arms at his chest, “We did. There’s nothing wrong.”

“You can tell me when you need me.”

“I don’t, I’m fine. You fucked me two weeks ago, I’m good for another two.”

“Lance,” Scowls Keith, “the time between has been getting shorter and shorter.”

Yes, yes, Lance  _ knows,  _ he is the one with the fucked up dietary habits, after all. Before he started whatever the hell this is with Keith he could go a good month without feeding, so long as he was really satisfied. Ever since Keith tore through his defenses and bared his nakedness for all to see, however, the lengths at which he could go celibate were dwindling. It was not noticeable at first, maybe just a few hours or a day or two shaved off, but eventually, with every fuck and every desperate gasp, it became a problem. 

So here Lance is, having just fed not even two weeks ago and already starving for more. How much time will be taken from him after the next feeding? When will he be forced to bed Keith nightly because he is too afraid to own up to how deep his love seeps? 

He does not tell Keith he knows why this is happening. He does not want to face it himself quite yet.

Realizing that Lance will not answer him, Keith continues, “I told you I would be there for you, whenever you needed me.”

And Lance  _ hates  _ that. Hates the genuine concern in Keith’s voice, hates the gentle squeezes on his calf and ankle that show his  _ support.  _ He suddenly does not want Keith touching him anymore and tries to jerk his legs out of his grip.

Keith only holds tighter, his right hand moving from Lance’s left ankle to slide dangerously up his inner right thigh. His fingers stretch out across the flesh and dig in, still fairly tender even with the obvious cupidity there. It jerks Lance forward and draws a faint gasp from his lips while the movement makes Keith lean into Lance’s space. Lance does not want to admit it but his skin burns with the heat of Keith’s palm and his heart stutters at the growing annoyance on the other man’s face.

Keith’s fingertips brush tantalizingly close to the apex of Lance’s hip and thigh. Lance cannot help it, his legs begin to part as if they have a mind of their own. Keith sucks in a breath and his grip becomes harsher. Lance almost moans but has enough dignity to choke on it instead of letting Keith know just how  _ badly  _ he wants him. His dick is already stirring beneath his casual wear jeans, reacting as it has been trained to. 

Keith licks his lips absentmindedly and Lance watches the teasing muscle darkly. His body aches as the festering empty pit within cries wantonly for the lust of another. Without meaning to, Lance’s mind probes into Keith’s, searching for those lecherous fantasies to which he can mold his appearance. All that comes to the forefront of his subconscious is Lance. Lance, Lance,  _ Lance.  _ Lance washing his hair with a pleasant hum in the shower, the water cascading down his broad shoulders and the heat turning his skin an attractive cherry red. Lance, head tossed back in a shameless moan, as Keith holds his thighs apart to lick a heady mess at his most intimate parts. Lance grinning smugly down at Keith as he rides his weeping cock, setting a brutal pace and allowing Keith no leverage to regain control. 

They are enough to banish Lance from this foggy mindset Keith always manages to put him in. He realizes he is centimeters away from Keith now, lips hovering just over his and feeling so fucking  _ right,  _ and abruptly pulls away. Keith stares after him and the hurt in his eyes is like a knife to Lance’s chest.

Lance swallows and rests his hand timidly on the one wrapped tightly at his thigh, “I-I haven’t had any water all night.”

The silence is painfully tense and Lance does not risk looking at Keith. Eventually Keith sighs and lifts Lance’s legs off of his lap. He stands up and frowns down at Lance, “I’ll be right back.”  _ Don’t you dare leave.  _ The threat is not said but it is present. Lance flashes a shaky smile and Keith is on his way.

And finally, Lance is alone, only with his profound hunger to keep him company. He glances around the large lounging area, catches the interested eye of a pretty Poga. She smiles lewdly at him, living up to the licentious nature of her species, and gestures to him with a coy beckoning of graceful fingers. Before he even knows what he is doing, he is on his feet, a sway to his hips and a sleazy smile on his lips.

 

* * *

 

 

It is interesting, taking on the form of another species. He has done it many times before throughout his travels in space, naturally, but it never fails to wig him out a bit. The Poga gripping his hair has the hots for some big chested female of her own race. The breasts are an interesting weight, at least, he should morph into women more often. He has her right thigh resting on his shoulder, on his knees in front of her with his mouth and fingers dedicated to mapping out the strange folds of her alien sex. They are hidden away in some dark hallway she lead him to, the music of the main hall faint but still discernible. 

She whimpers and jerks her hips mindlessly, mumbling some name Lance could not ever hope to pronounce. There is an oddly shaped nub not unlike the human clit near the middle of whatever all this is so he focuses on that. Her energy spikes and she bites into her own hand to stifle a scream of pleasure. He feasts on her humming libido in a daze, his mind full of furious mauve eyes and a calloused hand encircling his bared neck. The only enjoyment he finds in eating her out is her energy steadily filling him up. It tastes delightfully tangy, like an orange soda. The foreign vagina that took the place of his penis remains dry.

Her hips continue to rock, increasing in tempo as she reaches the crest of her chased pleasure. Lance swirls his tongue faster. He wants to get this over with, get back to having a clear mind and being himself. Finally the Poga orgasms, her warmth splashing across his lips and tongue. He licks it up easily and pulls back, smirking up at how her chest heaves with exertion. This is all he planned to do, he should get back to-

Lance doubles over, her thigh falling from his shoulder as he curls in on himself. His stomach, just now having felt delightfully full,  _ screams  _ in agony. It is as if someone forced his head back, poured kerosene down his throat, and sent following a lit match. His insides bubble behind the thing skin of his abdomen and he clutches his hands there as if he could somehow keep them steady. He wheezes as he feels his body forcibly morph back into its original state, the feeling of his skin pulling and tightening against his will completely strange to him. 

The Poga kneels beside him, worriedly crying out to him and reaching out with those graceful fingers. The second they graze his bare skin his body reacts. The flesh erupts in agony and his limbs begin to spasm in great seizures. She pulls away as if she, too, felt the viciousness and tells him, “I’m going to get help! Please stay with us, Blue Paladin!”

She hurries off in a flurry of panicked shouting, her skirts still disheveled and tangling around her legs as she goes. 

Lance is not sure how long he remains twitching on the cold floor. With the source of energy gone the pain ebbs, but only slightly. He is not sure what is happening to him at first, why his lungs are caught in barbed wire nor why his entrails feel as though they squirm like irritated snakes. Between gagging breaths and dry heaving he begs for it to stop, begs the stars and the Blue Lion and the God he long abandoned to just let it  _ stop.  _ He realizes, belatedly, that his body is rejecting the sexual energy it feasted upon. 

And if that is not just a kick to the balls. There is only one reason and incubus’ body would willingly put itself through this pain. It must expel the energy the same way it expels poison, for the Poga’s energy is not safe for consumption. No one’s is. No one except-

_ “Lance!” _

Lance knows a line of drool escapes his numbed lips but he cannot move his arms to wipe it away. They stay wrapped around his middle, his fingers digging into his sides and clawing away at his ribs to tear them apart. Anything to bring relief to his screaming. 

Hands reach towards him and he rears back, terrified for a moment that the Poga did not heed his warnings. The hurt is shocking and cruel when he moves even an inch but he has to get away from the venom, the  _ virus.  _ A familiar voice, rough like the owner gurgled a handful of gravel, cuts through the incessant ringing in his ears.

_ “Lance, Lance, darlin’, please stay with me, tell me what’s wrong-” _

The hands touch him, cold as ice against the overheated skin of his nape and suddenly- suddenly he-

He faints.

 

* * *

 

 

The delicate brush of fingertips through his hair is what rouses Lance from his five day coma.

He groans softly in content, cautiously stretching out his arms on the soft blanket beneath him. When no pain greets him his eyes flutter open, his eyesight blurry and corneas sensitive to the light after being closed for so long. There is a lighthearted chuckle above him and Lance turns his head towards it.

Warm comfort spreads like a sip of hot chocolate in his chest on a cold morning at the welcomed sight of his best friend. Hunk sits on the edge of Lance’s bed and smiles softly down at him, his gaze swirling with friendly affection. He speaks softly, “Hey, buddy.”

Lance’s lips spread into a slow grin and he pushes his head further into Hunk’s compassionate pets. Hunk hums in amusement as the other answers, “Hiya.” He yawns and covers his mouth, his jaw parting so extremely he hears it pop. “How long was I out?”

Hunk’s benevolent expression darkens, his smile slipping into a sad frown, “Five days.”

“What…?” Questions Lance in dumbfounded disbelief. He sits up only to curse at the rush of debilitating dizziness that ransacks his head. Hunk is there instantly, taking his shoulders in order to ease him back onto his back. Lance hardly even registers it. He...he is so fucking  _ hungry.  _ It has never been this bad before.

The hunger, as if angered that it had been forgotten, attacks ten fold with a rear of its decayed head. Lance clenches his eyes shut so tightly that stars explode behind his lids in retaliation. Despite his desperate grabs for control his consciousness reaches for the nearest source of dormant sexual energy. Jesus, Hunk, Lance did not realize he liked Shay  _ this  _ much, and it is  _ so  _ something he did not need to see at all, ever. His teeth dig into his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood as the images cloud his mind and call to the shifting mass within. 

“Lance! Lance, what’s wrong?!” Cries Hunk, now on his feet with his hands hovering awkwardly above the other.

Lance can already feel his bones expanding so he pleads, “Hu-Hunk, please! Please get out!” He whimpers pathetically as his instincts vehemently reject the idea by speeding the morphing process, once again against his will. 

Hunk seems to understand what is happening and he obeys Lance’s demands. At the door he demands, “What do you need? How do I help you?!”

“K-K-” Lance chokes and turns on his side, his stomach now nothing more than an empty trampoline for abhorrence and perverted desire. He just about swallows his tongue and cries,  _ “Keith!” _

The door to his room opens and closes silently. Lance twists in his sheets, a thin layer of sweat beading on his brow. The morph halts now that the source has left and his body shrinks back into itself. The oversized T-shirt and boxers Hunk must have dressed him in feel constricting, they stick to his sweat and get caught in his movements. He wants to take them off but his hands do not listen to him. 

Time passes in a confusing whirlpool of delirium and misery. It could not have been more than three minutes before Keith joins him but it is an insufferable eternity to Lance. That freezing touch is back; an open palm on his forehead and a hand gripping his own. Blinking his eyes open, he stares shakily up at Keith, the ache still present but lessening where he is caressed. 

“Lance?” Murmurs Keith, his face impossibly soft, and he leans down to brush his lips against the whining man’s own, “Is it the hunger?” 

Lance gasps and nods furiously, tears building at the edges of his eyes, “Ye-yeah, fuck- Keith, it hurts-”

“Shh, darlin’, shh….” Keith presses a harder kiss to Lance’s gaping mouth, allowing Lance to hopelessly suck on his tongue for a moment before he pulls away, “I’m going to take care of you, alright?” He sits back up and quickly undresses, throwing his clothing to a forgotten corner of the room. He also rids Lance of his, hands shaking as Lance thanks him for baring him. 

“How….” Keith crawls on top of Lance, his very presence chasing away the overbearing heat just beneath Lance’s skin. It moves deeper, settling low in his belly and demanding to be satisfied. “How do you need it?”

_ Need,  _ not  _ want.  _ Lance cannot focus too long on just one thing and he blurts, “Whatever you want! Anything, anything, just please Keith, it  _ hurts- _ ”

Keith swoops down to silence him with a searing kiss. Lance’s mind goes blank. He hands himself over to Keith’s teeth and hands without another sound.

 

* * *

 

Lance cannot handle gentle so Keith fucks him brutally. 

Between the punishing thrusts and the gnashing fangs and the hysterical pleading, Lance can feel a delightful iciness seeping into his veins. With every rotation of searching hips it spreads, allowing blissful relief everywhere it goes. He sings Keith’s name like a hymn with such reverent joy that it makes the other’s toes curl. 

Keith nibbles along Lance’s collarbone before sinking his teeth in deep, drawing yet another pleasured cry from Lance’s bruised lips. His neck has long since been littered with markings, a testament to the clear possession Keith has over him. He loves it. He  _ loves it he loves it he loves it,  _ and when Keith finally ejaculates, finally fills him to the brim, his tongue rolls out to lap at the essence seeping from Keith’s skin. It is sweet and vigorous, making him crazed with lust at the way it sizzles across his taste buds like pop rocks. 

There is not a trace left of the deep internal ache and the alleviation is so fucking  _ euphoric  _ that he explodes untouched. Keith swears fiercely at Lance’s pleased moans, at the way his eyes roll to the back of his skull and his mouth flops open. He strokes Lance through his powerful orgasm and is rewarded with a grateful mewl.

After Keith cleans them both off and guarantees Lance is sated, he gathers the boy into his arms. They are a golden cage around him breathing comfort into his exhausted bones. Keith presses a chaste to the tip of his sweaty brow.

Justly, Lance begins to cry.

Keith startles out of his post-coital rapture and props himself on his elbow, staring down at Lance in worried shock, “Lance? What’s wrong, darlin’?”

Breathing out a shaking sob, Lance throws his hands onto face to mask his tears pouring down his ruddy cheeks. He stutters softly, hardly able to speak through his choking gasps, “I-I-I’m sorry…!”

“About what?” Murmurs Keith, his hands moving to enclose around Lance’s wrists. He tugs them away from the boy’s soiled face, easily overpowering the weak fight Lance puts up to keep them there. His thumb rubs hypnotic circles into the soft, vulnerable flesh of Lance’s inner wrist. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

The genuine reassurance in Keith’s voice makes Lance break down harder. He twists his head and shoves his face to the side in an attempt to hide his shameful expression from Keith’s vivid gaze. “Yes I d-do!” He insists.

“Sweetheart-”

“Stop calling me that! Stop calling me those names!”

Keith’s brows furrow and his grip tightens, confusion prevalent in his tone, “Why?”

“Because-” Lance blinks tears away to glare wetly at Keith’s bare forearm. He bites his bottom lip when he sees bright red lines scratched into Keith’s pale skin. “-because I don’t deserve it!”

This time Keith is incredulous. He scoffs in disbelief, “Excuse me?”

“I know you love me!” Snaps Lance, finally turning to face Keith. The other boy winces at Lance’s harshness before steeling both his jaw and those mauve eyes that drive Lance wild. Lance does not let them distract him. He has to make Keith  _ see,  _ make him realize exactly what Lance is; leave him before Lance can fall deeper into the precipice. “I know that and yet still I-” He swallows back another sob, “-I fed on that alien, with you right in the other room, out where anyone could see me-”

Keith is silent. He does not move.

“-and then, even after that, I still take advantage of you again and again-!” He cuts himself off with an uncontrolled weep. 

And Lance hopes Keith hates him for it. He hopes that he is just an outlet for Keith’s contempt, an empty canvas for him to paint his problems upon and abandon in a dusty attic somewhere secret. He hopes Keith will use him over and over until he grows sick of Lance’s putrid insides, until the day they no longer offer him comfort. He hopes Keith will discard him then like he would throw away a paper towel- thoughtlessly, carelessly. 

He hopes this, yet, inanely, he wants to be more.

The air is tense and quiet in the dwindling space between them, save for Lance’s feeble whimpering. Then, Keith releases a tightly held breath. It smells like peppermint and musk, cold and spicy drifting across the heated skin of Lance’s face. He leans down and his nose grazes Lance’s. 

They have been closer than this. Keith has been inside him, wrapped around him, countless times. Yet Lance’s heart races and his fingers clench nervously into the sheets beneath him. Keith’s very essence thrums hot and strong in his veins and still, Lance is anxious. Suddenly he cannot stop thinking about what he wants.

“Lance…,” Keith breathes, “...why did your body reject her energy?”

Lance almost swallows his own tongue. He casts his eyes away once more so Keith releases a wrist to grab his chin. He drags it back so Lance’s face is exposed, his lips drawing near so Lance can feel every puff of breath he takes. Lance has never felt so vulnerable, naked and open beneath Keith’s penetrating stare. There is no lust in the atmosphere for him to hide behind.

“Lance.”

Lance squeezes his eyes shut as Keith’s hand spreads across his jaw in a gentle caress. Here he is, powerless again. Always a slave to his own body. And now it is ripping away the one thing he kept sacred, unsullied and untouched and hanging off his heart by dangling shoe string. If the desire is not there he is unsure, nothing more than a bumbling virgin bride on her wedding night. 

Keith kisses him gently, trying to coax the answer from him. It works beautifully as Lance loses track of his own mind.

“I-I’m yours.” Lance says. He sucks in a shuddering breath of panicked air, “I’m  _ yours. _ ”

His lover smiles down at him, a soft curved thing that awakens butterflies in Lance’s stomach. The monarchs chase away the fear and misery. Lance feels warm and jittery for the first time. 

“I just want to be yours.” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this. I was going through all my published works to do some upkeep and I thought, "why not write a sequel to the incubus au" since quite a few people inquired about one.
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr [@ronswansoneatsmyass](https://ronswansoneatsmyass.tumblr.com/)


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